Coffee
by skysplitslqf
Summary: If you feel like it, come with me. I will tell you a story. I'll show you something.


A/N: In case any of you haven't noticed, the story description is the last line in the prologue in _The Book Thief_. I just felt like a great hook, while giving nothing away about the story.

Perfect.

Also keep in mind that this is only the prologue. The other chapters will be much longer.

Disclimer: I do not own Glee or these characters. Now that I've mentioned The Book Thief do I have to say I don't own that, either? Because I don't. I love it, though.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **COFFEE**

 _Prologue_

 _March, 1942_

There was a full moon that night.

Its light overpowered the tall street lamps scattered along the path. It was almost blinding.

Keeping her head down, Rachel Hudson slowly walked home, her eyes fixed on the stones beneath her as she carefully wheeled her bicycle on the sidewalk beside her. She had had an extremely busy day. She had three more piano students than usual on a Monday, adding up to 14 students in total, which meant commuting to 14 different houses throughout the day. Her knees ached with the strain she had put on them, but she still smiled to herself. She found teaching piano, and the effort it took to move from student to student, rewarding.

Rachel gripped the bar handle of the bike tighter as she steered it, turning to walk into her street. Pine Street. She had lived on this road for four years, and yet she still laughed at how ironic she found the lack of pine trees along the street. She shook her head to herself as she took in the houses on either side of her. She noticed the lights were still on in the Evans' house, and the same went for the Abrams'. But as she trekked further up the road to her own house, she noticed that her next door neighbours had all of their lights off, bar one.

The Puckermans.

Rachel planned on doing what she usually did when she passed Noah and Quinn's house; glance, but keep walking. But when she noticed someone moving in the kitchen, the only room with the light on, something made Rachel halt in her mission to get home. Her curious nature had gotten the better of her. Seeing Finn could wait.

Rachel rarely saw Noah and Quinn Puckerman, outside _or_ inside their house. Noah worked in a bread factory, with long hours of work and late nights home. Rachel only ever saw him when he came over to visit Finn. Quinn maintained the house, only leaving to go to the market, or to visit Santana at the Evans' house. Rachel had no idea why Quinn was such a hermit, but she accepted that she would most likely never find out. She had never gotten along with Quinn. In high school, Quinn showered her with insults at every opportunity, and things hadn't gotten much better since then. There was no more bullying, thankfully, but Rachel still couldn't shake the feeling that Quinn tried to avoid her. Whenever she had the rare chance to catch a glimpse of Quinn in her garden, she always received a tight-lipped, barely there smile, and no verbal greeting. Rachel wanted desperately to have a short conversation with Quinn, to ask her how Noah is, to see if she's reading any good books at the moment. But Quinn would always look at Rachel with slightly wide eyes, pull her lips up slightly, and glide through her front door before Rachel could get a word out.

Rachel was aware of Quinn's difficult situation with her family; Quinn had fought long and hard for her relationship with Noah during her teens. Her father strongly disapproved of Quinn being courted by a Jewish boy, but her mother eased the tension by insisting that it was only puppy love, a high school fling (while she wasn't keen on the idea of her daughter having 'flings', it distracted her and Russell Fabray from the seriousness of the relationship). That tension returned in full force when Noah and Quinn got married a month after graduation. Rachel could still remember how it felt like her stomach had bottomed out when she heard the news from Finn.

Tonight was different. Rachel could sense an eerie atmosphere in the air as she squinted to see in through the Puckerman's kitchen window. Quinn stood, directly in front of the glass. Her head was bowed, her was skin pale, and she wore a pained expression on her face. A strong hand lay atop her shoulder, the owner of the hand standing directly behind her. Slowly, Quinn raised her arm to reveal what she was looking at in her hand; a letter.

Rachel's grip on her bike strengthened. Everyone knew what a solemn look and a letter meant at that time. Rachel watched with unwavering attention as Noah stepped out from behind Quinn, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder. He also appeared to be saying something. It didn't seem to help. Quinn's face shone with glistening tears as she angrily threw the letter to the side. She dropped to her knees.

Rachel could hear Quinn's howl from beyond the perimeters of the garden.

She quickly decided to go home. Slightly flustered, Rachel pulled her bicycle beside her with haste, moving the 20 feet from the Puckerman's house to hers. She pushed through the front gate and up the pathway, setting the bike to lean against the side of the house before taking a shaky breath, and opening the front door.

Finn was sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, smiling and drinking a beer when Rachel entered in the room. He looked up to greet her, but stopped immediately when he saw her expression. The grin fell from his face, landing on his lap.

"Noah," Rachel sighed, dropping her weight against the doorframe, using it to hold herself up.

Finn stood up, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Who told you?"

"I saw it myself, through the window." She made her way over to the sofa, falling down onto it and looking up into Finn's anxious eyes. "She's distraught, Finn."

Finn dragged his hand over his mouth, his other one still perched atop his head, clutching at his hair. "I can imagine." He dropped back down into his chair, his face tumbling forward into his hands. "God, not Puck."

Rachel let out a hallow laugh, void of humour. "Why are you surprised? He's tall, strong and young."

"He's my best friend," was Finn's weak rebuttal. It sounded muffled through his hands.

Rachel sat forward, her elbows resting on her knees. She felt sympathy for Finn, but the taste in her mouth was too bitter to allow her to comfort him. "War doesn't care about that."

To her surprise, Finn nodded and sat back in his chair with a long exhale. He let his eyes close, and so did Rachel. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

Rachel was the first to open her eyes and speak. She was always the first to speak. "I suppose there's no letter for you, then?"

His eyes opened then, sighing once again with a nod of his head. "No letter."

"Good." Rachel sat further back in her seat, mimicking Finn. A breath she hadn't realised she had been holding escaped her body in a rush. "That's good." But she couldn't relax. Her mind whirled. Finn was also tall, strong and young. Every muscle in her body tensed when she thought of it because she knew.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Rachel felt a wave of nerves when the passed by the Puckerman household the next day on the way to the market. She looked over her shoulder at the kitchen window, but the room appeared to be empty. Feeling relieved for some reason, she wandered down the hill towards Jones' market, not noticing the dark clouds above her.

She was blissfully oblivious to the fact that it was these clouds that would bring her one more day of happiness.

She greeted Mercedes when she strode by the till, heading straight over towards the vegetables. She was inspecting the condition of some loose potatoes, when she heard hushed tones in the next aisle.

"You heard this from her?" one of the voices whispered. Rachel noted that the voice was female, but it was too quiet to decipher exactly who it was.

A second voice replied, not as quiet as the first. "Uh huh. Practically fell into my arms when I opened the door for her." That was definitely Santana. Rachel worked out that she was probably talking to Brittany, and she knew that they were definitely talking about Quinn. Intrigued, Rachel dropped the potato and subtly moved in the direction of the voices.

"What did she say?"

Rachel heard Santana scoff. "Nothing much. It was too hard to hear her over her blubbering."

"San," Brittany scolded, her volume rising slightly. "It must be really difficult for her. She doesn't know whether she'll ever see him again after he leaves."

"But you think she'd be expecting it, wouldn't you? I'm this close to packing Sam's bag and leaving it by the door." Rachel's mouth dropped open, before rolling her eyes at herself. She shouldn't have been shocked at this comment. This was Santana.

Brittany sighed rather loudly. "I wonder why she came to you about this and not me. You probably made her feel worse."

"She likes my 'no-nonsense' attitude. Obviously she was in need of a little tough love." Rachel could practically see the smirk Santana was probably wearing. "And she most likely didn't go to you because she's jealous that your husband's a cripple and wouldn't be much use to anyone." Rachel winced through the very pregnant pause, which was broken after a few seconds by Santana. "Sorry."

"You need to stop calling him that," Brittany snapped. "And you need to be more sympathetic of Quinn. She could use a friend."

Rachel knew for a fact that Santana rolled her eyes after that statement. "Yeah, yeah." There was a short silence, before she spoke again. "I don't understand the fuss anyway. It's not as if Q loves him or anything, I don't know why she married _him_ of all people."

Rachel's eyes bulged out of her head. Noah and Quinn were the power couple of McKinley High School. Quinn even disobeyed her father to be with him. Rachel had presumed they were madly in love.

Brittany's next words pushed even more doubts into her head. "Whether she loves him or not is irrelevant. She must still care about him. Besides, you know exactly why she married him, or maybe you're not as clever as I thought you were."

Rachel chose that very moment to sneeze, cringing internally as she stumbled forward into the shelf of canned beans, effectively knocking a couple of them to the ground. Her face burned a bright red colour as she awkwardly stepped over them, and turned to face Santana and Brittany, who both looked at her with very different expressions on their faces.

"Eavesdropping, Berry?" Santana sneered. Rachel seethed at that; Santana still insisted on addressing Rachel by her maiden name. It had gotten old by sophomore year, and was even older five years after high school.

Santana's parents had immigrated to America from Puerto Rico before Santana was born. They had wanted the best opportunities for their children, not without forgetting that there would be a language barrier that would be difficult to climb over, and severe discrimination. Santana was often berated for her skin colour, but her quick wit and sharp tongue usually put those people back in their place. Ninety percent of the time Rachel admired Santana's bite. The other ten percent was when it was being targeted at her.

"Mrs Evans, Mrs Abrams," she greeted stiffly. She held her hands behind her back, wishing for the ground to swallow her.

Brittany giggled. "We've known each other for years, Rachel. I keep telling you to call me Brittany."

"Brittany." Rachel's gaze shifted to Santana. "Lopez."

Santana rolled her eyes, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "Did you hear about Puck, Berry?" A smug grin made its way to her face. "Oh, I forgot. You just did."

Rachel nodded solemnly. "I did. It's an awful shame. Poor Noah and Quinn."

"Are you worried about your precious little Finn, too?" Santana quizzed, the smug look on her face growing by the second. She seemed oblivious to the disappointed look Brittany shot her as she had a stand off with Rachel.

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Of course I am, Santana. Finn's physical prowess and large stature will definitely spark the interest of the American army. All I can say is that if the time comes, I-"

"I didn't ask for an essay." Santana fixed the position of her hat, looking positively bored with the conversation. "I see you still speak in paragraphs."

"And I see your vocabulary is still as mundane as ever."

Brittany bit her lip to hold in a laugh. Santana glowered at Rachel. "Let's leave it there, shall we?"

Rachel nodded, a stoic expression on her face, yet she smiled internally. This was one of the few times she had ever left Santana with no retort. To her, it felt almost as good as singing, or playing the piano.

She let Quinn slip slowly from her mind as she went about her business that day. She would have felt it happen, if she had been aware of it. By the time Rachel got home that evening, after a long day of pressing piano keys and smiling patiently, the sky was charcoal black. Rain licked the streets rapidly. Puddles of water collected in the bumps and cracks in the pavement.

She panted lowly as she entered the house, wringing her coat off immediately. She stepped out of her shoes and left them by the door, before taking the dreaded few steps into the kitchen to Finn.

Finn turned around with a smile. A good sign. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful," Rachel replied as she sat at the table, her anxiety dissipating but her curiosity still building. "No letter?"

"No _mail_." Finn poured murky liquid into a small mug and placed it on the table in front of Rachel. "Weather must be too bad for Michael."

Rachel exhaled for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

Thank god Michael the Mailman was prone to chest infections.

* * *

The relief didn't last for long.

When Rachel returned home the next day, she was all smiles. She had a particularly successful piano lesson with Richard Lincoln, who _finally_ knew how to play his exam pieces. She had a lovely lunch with Mercedes. Rachel was in high spirits as she walked in the front door of her house and into the kitchen with a smile.

Finn stood in the centre of the room. His face was white, his mouth was dry and his hand loosely held a sheet of paper.

Rachel's heart fell all the way down to her stomach.

* * *

The night before they went away, Finn and Noah went to a pub to get drunk off their faces.

Although Noah received his letter first, they were both leaving on the same day. Rachel prayed and prayed that they wouldn't be separated in combat. Being with Noah would favour in Finn's survival.

Rachel lay in bed but felt unable to sleep. Thoughts of bombs and guns flooded her mind. All of her fingernails had been chewed off in the past hour.

She couldn't let her thoughts fall to Quinn, who was probably doing the exact same thing as her; lying under a quilt which shook violently from the clutch of warm hands, begging for sleep to take her.

The sound of someone stumbling in the front door downstairs startled Rachel. She sat up in bed, hearing the footsteps get louder and clumsier as they pounded up the stairs.

Finn staggered into the room, holding onto the door for grip as he paused, staring at the bed. "You're awake?"

Rachel nodded faintly, unsure if Finn could see her. "I… I couldn't sleep." She turned away with a grimace when she witnessed Finn starting to strip his clothing off. She was suddenly struck with guilt, realising this was the most of her husband she'd see in months. Years. Possibly forever.

When Finn crashed onto the bed like a felled tree, Rachel allowed herself to lie back down, slowly resting her head on the pillow. She turned to face Finn, who gazed at Rachel with a sleepy smile, his eyes hooded. "I love you," he slurred.

Rachel let out a heartbroken sigh, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. "I love you, too." She reached a hand across and stroked his face. It was rough. He'd shave it in the morning. "You're not worried about me being here all alone, are you?" she joked, hoping to hear him laugh one last time.

All Rachel received in reply was a sad smile, and some even sadder words. "No, not you," Finn whispered, shifting to lie on his back. "It's me I'm worried about."

* * *

It was the first time in years she'd seen Quinn outside of her garden.

She looked incredibly sleep deprived. Her eyes sagged with exhaustion, bloodshot surrounding the hazel. Her hair, although up in a bun on her head, seemed lifeless. Her lips were in a permanently thin line.

Yet she was still as painfully beautiful as she had been in high school.

The journey down to the train station had been uncomfortable. They all had remained silent, except for a few comments from Noah or Finn. Rachel attempted multiple times to catch Quinn's melancholy eyes, but it was useless.

Quinn didn't want to be found.

Rachel spent her final moments with Finn trying to memorise his features. His dark, kind eyes. His abnormally small mouth. His lowered cheekbones. His imperfectly shaven cheeks.

She grasped his hand for dear life as they approached the platform. The slightly too long sleeve of his shirt caressed her wrist, comforting her. When they came to a halt at the edge of the platform, Finn barely had time to turn to face her before Rachel had thrown herself into his arms. He let out a short laugh, setting his suitcase down and wrapping both arms around her, holding her close.

"Please come home," she gasped, clutching Finn's suspenders and bunching his shirt up in her fists. "And in one piece, too."

She felt his lips by her ear. She could tell they were stretched upwards in a smile. "I will. I promise." He pulled back, placing a firm, wet kiss on her already damp cheek, before stepping backwards. Rachel took this time to notice the amount of couples in the same scenario as her, although a lot of children were present also; standing silently as they watched their parents say their goodbyes. They stepped on Rachel's heart.

Rachel turned to witness Quinn and Noah in a strong embrace. Quinn's face was buried deep into Noah's neck, and her arms locked his body close to hers. No space existed between them. It was a hug of desperation. That was clear.

When they finally pulled apart, Noah and Finn walked towards the train door, just as it signalled that it was departing soon. Finn removed his hat and waved it at Rachel, who did her best to smile back. She realised it was his attempt at humour. Now was not the time to disappoint him.

She subtly noticed Quinn's helpless face as the train began to move out of the station. A strip of tears ran down both of her cheeks, and her head was held up by her two, folded hands, tucked firmly under her chin. If she noticed Rachel's stare, she didn't let on. Quinn's eyes remained locked on the train, until it was a mere black dot in the horizon.

The walk back to Pine Street was as silent as the journey there, only there was no Finn or Noah to fill the gaps. Rachel found that she didn't care. This was the one day she didn't long for conversation with Quinn. And Quinn looked like she wanted to talk to Rachel even less than usual.

It was so odd to be alone with Quinn.

Rachel could hear Quinn's deep breathing, the click of her heels on the cobblestone, the brush of her arm off her dress. _Those_ sounds filled the quiet air between them.

As they reached their respective houses, they didn't even look at each other. Rachel heard the creaking of Quinn's opening garden gate, as she stared at her hand placed firmly on the painted wood of her own. She was struck with a sudden thought, and although she felt she already knew the answer to what the outcome would be, she couldn't stop herself from asking Quinn.

Strange things were happening on Pine Street that March.

What was the harm in adding one more to the list?

"Quinn," she blurted, watching as the other woman stopped in her tracks and slowly turned her head to face Rachel. Their eyes met for the first time that day. This gave Rachel the confidence to continue. "Would… you like to come in for coffee?"

Rachel's life was rarely spontaneous. Nothing new ever happened, each day was a repeat of the last. And there were _certainly_ no firsts.

But on March 19th, 1942, two firsts occurred for Rachel.

She saw Quinn Puckerman outside of her property for the first time in five years.

And she saw her _truly_ smile for the first time in forever.


End file.
